


Scaring Truth

by Scandiaca



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, First Meeting, Fluff, M/M, Prompt Fill, soulmate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-13 10:45:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1223419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scandiaca/pseuds/Scandiaca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day Sherlock's life started anew, was the day a bleeding bullet wound appeared on his shoulder. </p>
<p>(This was a tumblr prompt ages ago. Basically, what if you are literally linked to your soulmate? Their pain becomes your pain, their scars yours and so on. Maybe not every single feeling, but the permanent scars and such appear on both people. This is my Johnlock take on it.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scaring Truth

The day Sherlock's life started anew, was the day a bleeding bullet wound appeared on his shoulder. He collapsed under the pain, before barely, begrudgingly making it to the ER. The wound would scar. Deeply. The detective could only imagine what the original wound looked like. He wanted to see it nearly as much as he wanted to see the person experiencing it.

A soulmate. He had a soulmate! The thought kept buzzing around in his head shifting between sheer excitement and disbelief. His whole life, Sherlock had, if secretly, searched his body for markings of unknown origin. That was the problem with the whole soulmate concept. It was the mate of one's very soul. And human souls changed with age, with experiences and life choices. Some people- boring people in Sherlock's opinion- were born with a soul that would not change much over the course of their lives. Their markings would appear almost immediately. Others started with a soulmate somewhere in the world, but lost that connection after tragedies or other experiences shook their world to the very core. And others, like Sherlock, waited their whole life for the experience that would change their soul enough to find its match.

Sherlock, scientist and man of research that he was, had experimented. Quite desperately, really. But it hadn't changed the fact that no markings were forthcoming. No scar, no little burn, nothing to show his soul was connected to the pain and happiness of another. Of course, markings on their own were no guarantee for happiness. The soulmate had to be found. But now, that Sherlock knew... Well, he would find his soulmate. He was a genius, after all.

Briefly, the detective entertained the idea of carving a message into his own arm, leaving it for the other person to find. But his soulmate already struggled against a severe injury. It seemed better to refrain from further additions to the collection of scars. But Sherlock Holmes wasn't a genius for nothing. He spend the hours of hospital observation painstakingly cataloguing all the little marks that started appearing over his body.

And a few weeks later, when one Dr. John Watson limped into the Heathrow arrival terminal, Sherlock Holmes was there. He stopped the discharged army doctor and pulled aside his coat, showing off his newly bandaged shoulder. He stared at John, who stared back. Sherlock scolded himself for not rehearsing this conversation enough.

"How... how did you find me?" the soldier asked in a quiet voice, that Sherlock found rather smoothing. The detective fiddled with his coat collar for a moment, trying to determine the right response. He should make a good first impression on his soulmate. He should not overwhelm the man. Normal people were so easily overwhelmed. He breathed in deeply, determined to keep his answer short and clear.

"The calluses, that appeared on my right hand shortly after the shoulder wound, were that of a doctor. The calluses on my left hand indicated frequent gun usage. And by frequent I mean nearly daily. A doctor and daily gun usage? Army doctor, currently deployed. Sunburn on my neck indicted a warm, desert climate. So the only real question was... Afghanistan or Iraq?" Damn it. He couldn't stop the flood of words, couldn't even try. The consulting detective pressed his lips together, waiting for a look of irritation, anger or regret to cross John's face.

The soldier licked his lips. "That was... amazing."  
Sherlock blinked. "Pardon?"  
"Amazing," John repeated, a slow grin spreading over his face. "Truly extraordinary."  
Sherlock felt his lips tug into an unfamiliar expression. A smile. "You think so?"


End file.
